Save, Quit, Continue?
by Flurblewig
Summary: AU. After the end of S1, it isn't the pub Sam gets taken to...


Title: Save, Quit, Continue?

Author: Flurblewig

Pairing: None. Sam-centric Gen

Rating: PG13

Timeline/Spoilers: Set after the ending of S1

Length: 2,145 words

Disclaimer: Not mine. We all know that.

A/N: Written for pillsosweet, who wanted Scary Test Card Girl, attempted suicide and unreality flashes.

"Pub," Gene had said, and Sam hadn't thought anything of it at the time. He'd just shaken his head in wonderment and agreed. It seemed a bit of a bizarre reaction to having had a gun pointed at you, maybe - but since when had this new world of his been anything _but _bizarre? So he'd got in the car, sat back, and closed his eyes. He hadn't realised how totally exhausted he was - physically, emotionally and mentally - until that moment; he'd been running on nothing but adrenaline and desperation for too long. He'd allowed his head to fall back against the seat and the gentle motion of the car to pull him into sleep.

And when he'd woken, he'd found that it wasn't the Railway Arms he'd been taken to. It was a hospital. The kind with bars on the windows.

He'd laughed, then. Laughed himself into a heap on the ground. Which, with hindsight, probably hadn't been the best reaction if he'd been hoping to convince anyone of his sanity.

Interestingly, it was only Ray who'd been able to look him in the eye as they took him away. Chris had stared fixedly at his shoes and Gene had busied himself talking to the doctors - he heard the word 'breakdown' several times - but Ray had stood quietly aside and given him a small, tight nod.

"You need help," was all he'd said.

It wasn't exactly compassion in Ray's eyes, but it had maybe come close. He knew what it was like to go too far, after all.

Sam had nodded back, and let himself be led inside without resistance. What was the point? His subconcious was running the show here, and he'd just been taught that trying to second-guess it didn't work. He'd thought this was about his father - been so sure that Vic was the key, the way to get home, that he hadn't thought anything else mattered: not upsetting Annie, not fighting with Gene. But he'd been wrong, hadn't he? About that, about so many things. So if his mind wanted him here, then here he'd be. He was sick of fighting - with everybody, and especially himself.

"That sounds like giving up," she said.

He didn't reply. He didn't want to fight with her, either. It was so much easier to sit, to drift, to wait. He wasn't sure whether he was waiting to be released, to wake up, or to die, but he decided that it didn't matter. They were probably all the same thing.

"Sam? Don't you want to play with me any more?"

He reached out and switched her off, drawing howls of protest from the rest of the room.

"Now, now, Sam," said one of the orderlies - Mike? Mick? Mark? His memory was giving him a little trouble lately. "What did we say about leaving the television alone?"

Sam shrugged, but Mike-Mick-Mark wasn't looking at him any more. "There," he said as he switched it back on. "Now we can -" He broke off as a cracking, fizzing sound came from the set, and frowned at it. The picture began to flicker and he reached out, open-handed, to slap the side of the set. It came briefly back into focus and then exploded, throwing out equal quanitities of smoke and hot glass.

Sam threw his arm up to shield his face, shrieks and screams ringing in his ears as the room's occupants fled in all directions. When she spoke, he barely heard her. "For you," she whispered in his ear. "Look down."

He did as he was told and found a large, curved piece of glass at his feet. It sparkled and caught the light. He reached down, picked it up and then slipped back to his room. In the confusion and noise, nobody seemed to notice.

She was already waiting when he got back, sitting cross-legged on his bed. "So," he said. "I suppose this means you're free, now?"

She smiled, inclining her head so that her bright hair pooled on one shoulder. "I always have been. As free as you are, anyway."

He laughed. "That's not very, then."

"Why do you say that, Sam?"

He spread his arms wide. "Look around you. Look at where I am. Do I look free to you?"

She looked, turning her head slowly from one side to the other, then faced him again with an earnest expression. "Yes," she said.

He sank down on the bed next to her. "Well, it probably makes sense if you're crazy as well. You're part of me, so I suppose you must be."

"I'm your friend," she said, smiling again.

"Great. That's just great."

"I want you to be happy."

"Sorry to disappoint you, then."

She leaned forward. "Don't you want to play this game any more, Sam?"

He let his head fall forward into his hands. "No," he said softly.

"Then don't."

He snorted and looked up at her again. "Oh, just like that? Just say 'I don't want to play any more?' It's that easy, is it?"

"Yes," she said, and nodded down towards his side. He followed her gaze, and saw the curved shard of glass he'd picked up from the television room.

He picked it up, turning it over in his hands.

"Escape," she said. "You have time. They won't come."

Sam ran his finger along the smooth edge of the glass. Did she mean the orderlies wouldn't come to stop him, or Gene and Annie wouldn't come to save him?

Again, he decided it all probably added up to the same thing.

A drop of blood fell from his finger onto the white sheet of the bed, blooming on the cotton like a rose. He watched it, fascinated. Why not? Maybe he'd been right that first time, up on the roof. Maybe that was the way, and he'd just got distracted.

Well, there was nothng to distract him any more, was there?

He brought the glass across his wrist with a smooth, decisive sweep then lay down on the bed and watched the flowers form. She waited with him, until the darkness fell. "New game, now," she whispered as he closed his eyes.

_Wonder if he'll ever know_

_he's in the best-selling show_

_is there life on mars?_

When he opened them again, the music was no longer just in his head. He could hear it, muted and slightly blurred, floating above him. Low, grey clouds filled his vision and a sharp breeze tugged at his jacket.

Jacket?

He looked down at himself. His hospital clothes were gone, as was the sheet - the bed - underneath him. David Bowie carried on singing as he raised himself into a sitting position, taking in the piles of smoking debris in front of him and the car beside him. An old, blue car. A familiar car.

"Are you all right, sir?"

Sam jumped, his breath catching in his throat as the policeman came into view around the side of the car.

"What happened? Did you not see the signs?"

Sam scrambled to his feet, gazing around at the demolition site he was standing in. Familiar car, familiar site.

"Sir? Can you tell me what happened?"

Sam let out a long breath, leaning forward with his hands on his knees and letting his head hang down. "No," he said. "That's one thing I definitely can't do."

"Do you _remember _what happened, sir?"

Sam straightened up again and began to laugh. "Oh, I remember. I remember - well, let's just say more than you'd believe."

The policeman frowned, his expression changing from concern to puzzlement to suspicion. He reached through the car window and pulled the papers off the passenger seat. "It says here -"

"That I'm on transfer from C Division in Hyde, yeah. I'm -" he paused, his mouth dry. "I'm DI Sam Tyler and I'm on my way to see DCI Gene Hunt."

The policeman scanned the papers and gave him a slow nod. "Right you are then, sir. Well, the station's not far. You can walk, I'll get the car sorted out." He turned away and began to talk into his radio.

"Right," said Sam dazedly. "Thanks. I'll, er, I'll do that, then."

Walking the streets and into the station had the same dream-like quality as it did the first time, as if everything was taking place in slow motion. The dingy office, the mountainous stacks of files, the smoke-hazed air - and Chris, stepping towards him with cigarette in hand and cheerful, welcoming expression in place. He held out a hand. "DC Chris Skelton."

Sam stared at the hand and after a while Chris pulled it back, adjusting his suit jacket with it instead.

Sam closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"Er - are you all right, boss?"

Sam fought back the laughter that was trying to erupt from his chest. All right? He didn't think he'd been all right for a very long time. He ran a shaking hand over his face.

_New game, now. _

An image flashed in front of his eyes - his mum, watching with a fond smile as he fought with the controls of the first computer game she'd bought him. He'd crashed and burned spectacularly the first time he'd tried to play, and had sobbed until he'd worn himself out. And Ruth had cuddled him and laughed and said _It doesn't matter, Sammy. You can have another try. See if you can do better this time. _

"Yes, mum," he said softly.

"What was that, boss?"

He opened his eyes to see Chris looking at him a little worriedly. Ray, still in his seat in the background, was just beginning to roll his eyes.

Crunch time, then. Did he really want to have another try? To do it all over again?

"You look a bit out of it, boss. Maybe you ought to let the plonk on the next floor have a look at you. Sweet little piece, she is."

The television at the side of the room began to flicker, and for a second a familiar image flashed on the screen. She looked up at Sam, and nodded.

Sam nodded back, slowly. What else was he going to do?

"I'm fine, Chris, thank you. But yes, I might go and see WPC Cartwright."

Chris straightened up a little. "Right, boss. Been doing your homework, have you?"

Sam smiled. "That's one way of looking at it." He strode forward and thumped on the door to Gene's office. "Hunt," he called. "Wakey wakey!"

A little strangled gasp came from behind him. A hand grabbed his arm and he looked round into Chris's horrified face. "What are you _doing_, boss?"

Sam gently shook the hand off. "It's a new game now, Chris. And I know what the rules are, this time."

Chris stepped back as Gene appeared in the doorway, scratching himself and frowning menacingly. "What the hell is going on here?" His gaze came to rest on Sam. "DI Tyler, I presume? A word in your shell-like, pal."

He stepped forward towards Sam, who neatly sidestepped the hands grabbing for his jacket. Gene raised his eyebrows and slowly let his hands drop back to his sides. "Quick little bastard, aren't you?" He leant back against the door frame and looked Sam up and down. "Am I going to have trouble with you, Tyler?"

Sam returned his gaze. "You wouldn't want it any other way, Guv."

"Oh, is that right? Familiar with my desires, are you?"

Sam grinned. "Call it a hunch." He stepped past Gene into the office. "Well? Are we going to talk about the Susie Tripper case, or what?"

Gene's eyes narrowed. "What do you know about that?"

"I know that you're not going to solve it without my help."

"Cocky as well as quick." Gene slammed the door shut and turned to face Sam. "I like that in a copper. You know what else I like?"

Before Sam could reply, Gene's fist shot out lightning-fast and buried itself in Sam's stomach. Groaning, he dropped to his knees.

"What else I like is a copper who knows his place. And down there, sunshine, is yours. Got it?"

Trying to take in enough air to laugh, Sam nodded. "I suppose some things," he panted, "do stay the same."

Gene grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. "Just so's we're clear how things work round here. You remember how the game's played, and we'll get on just fine."

Sam brushed himself off and straightened his shoulders. "Oh yeah," he said. "I remember that, all right."

"Good," said Gene, putting an arm round his shoulders and propelling him towards the door. "Glad we got that sorted out. Come on, I'll get Chris to show you where everything is."

Sam grinned. "It's all right. I think I know my way around."

-end-


End file.
